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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27794047">We Left The World Better Then We Found It</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/madselyn/pseuds/madselyn'>madselyn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Coda, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Everyone Is Alive, F/M, I am fixing that mess, I mean dear god, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, everyone is happy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:00:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,292</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27794047</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/madselyn/pseuds/madselyn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester’s world ended just the same.</p><p>Bang. Silence.</p><p>Empty.</p><p>And then his phone rang.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>173</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! So, I have literally never written for Destiel before and if this sucks I am so sorry. This is more therapy for me than anything. This first chapter is strictly a prologue and I promise that there will be more in what I am considering the actual story... so the next chapter. Thank you for reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It started with a bang.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Why did it </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> start with a bang?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The world. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bang.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A gunshot. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bang.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bang.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His heart. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bang.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then silence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silence. Which, in perceptive, was always louder than the bang. One was not without the other. The deafening, suffocating, </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The world, void of everything, was empty. The lack of sound, of hope, of everything. Even feelings were numb and maybe it was human error. Maybe it was loud and maybe there was a feeling. Maybe there was more than a broken door, a used sigil, a bloody handprint, a broken heart, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>silence</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean Winchester’s world ended just the same.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bang. Silence.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Empty.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then his phone rang. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which, unsurprisingly, he did not hear. He felt it vibrate and saw his brother’s name—</span>
  <em>
    <span>his brother, goddamnit</span>
  </em>
  <span>—and yet he did nothing. He couldn’t stop the overwhelming </span>
  <em>
    <span>silence</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was too loud. His mind was doing laps around itself. He was half conscious of placing his phone harder than he should on the ground and running his hands down his face. He was aware of touch, which was good since he seemed to have lost his senses. The tears on his face, the quiver of his lips, and the brush of hot air that escaped as he gasped for breath. Dean knew he had to pick himself off the floor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How the Hell was he expected to do</span>
  <em>
    <span> that?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Priorities, Winchester. Start with the basics. Stand up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He did no such thing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fine, dumbass. Then answer the phone.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had stopped ringing. He didn’t touch it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Come on. You have to take care of Sammy. What about Jack? Come on, the kid is in the middle of a shitstorm and he’s in the eye. Get your shit together, Winchester. Cas did not-</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There it was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was that silence again. It consumed him and there was a cavity in his chest that seemed to get tighter. More tears fell and he hated it. He hated feeling weak and pathetic and hurt. He hated losing and that’s what he did. He lost. He lost hope in himself, humanity, and everything he stood for. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lost Cas. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You changed me, Dean.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Why does this sound like a goodbye?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Because it is. I love you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That son of a bitch. He had loved him—loved </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Destructive, angry, broken, and daddy’s blunt instrument. An Angel of the Lord, no matter how shitty of a Lord Chuck was, had loved </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was irony, a cruel joke. One he had never let himself finish the punch line for.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first words he had spoken in a long time came out rough and painful, “Damn it, Cas.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“-it’s not. And everyone who knows you sees it. Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Love.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean Winchester was a stubborn man. One of the worst. He knew that. He was stubborn in the way that he couldn’t live without Sam, he refused himself happiness, and stubborn in all the ways he loved people. He was so closed and guarded and so damn</span>
  <em>
    <span> stubborn</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But he did. He loved.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He loved his Baby, the shiny black Impala, the only home he ever had. He loved his music, even if it was old and outdated. He loved the bunker in a way that it was a new home. He loved his father and mother, no matter how screwed up his childhood had been. He loved his little brother. He had always loved his little brother. Even when he left him and even when the world was ending. Hell, some of the disasters they got into was because of his love for his little brother. He loved the family he had built, lost, and gained over the years. He loved the kid in a way that almost scared him and he knew he was not always there like he should have been but… he loved Jack. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he loved… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dean loved him. He thought</span>
  <em>
    <span> he </span>
  </em>
  <span>knew, he thought it was obvious, and he thought, he thought, he thought… He never thought that love—his love—could be matched. It had been slow and he’d been </span>
  <em>
    <span>scared</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he thought he knew. He had wanted to tell him in purgatory, had tried too, but he didn’t and now… now… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now he had to fix it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was a stubborn man, but he decided that it was time to listen to himself and the people he loved.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean Winchester stood up.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. You Should Be Here</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A collection of moments when Cas was with Dean without being there. Or, in a way, how he should have been there.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Alright guys, I am absolutely exhausted and bypassed sleep so I could get this out. I hope you enjoy. There is a lot of hidden symbolism in this chapter and I still feel like my writing of Dean is just... meh... anyways, I hope you enjoy and I promise I will be back with more soon!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>You should be here. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was in every beat of his heart. Every thought that he had. It was always followed with that…</span>
  <em>
    <span> feeling</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Or the lack of.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The way he would turn to ask for advice or glance up to meet blue eyes just to meet empty air. One hundred yards stares that he could still feel. That attention and confusion that he had begun to translate with the truth. There had been more than just heavenly curiosity, but compassion, annoyance, frustration, hope, and love. But blue had turned to black. Blue that washed away in an ocean and happiness. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Happiness</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That was wrong. That was just so </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean knew happiness. Sure, he had very short lived moments of it, but he knew it. It was in the little things. Like homemade </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> from the bunker kitchen. Especially bacon—</span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> bacon. It was having a bed to return to every night. That was a blessing beyond anything. Even “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Kick me,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> signs on Sam’s back. When he found time, washing Baby in the garage. Or his favorite song when it plays without him putting it on. Jack sneaking cereal in the middle of the night but still leaving clear evidence of the bowl in the sink. Movie nights. Sitting down, the four of them, every morning for breakfast. A backwards blue tie. An upside down fake badge. A five dollar cowboy hat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That… what happened to him should not have been </span>
  <em>
    <span>happiness.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Damnit, Cas. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You should be here. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>____</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Looking back, details get a bit blurry. It’s hard to say who found who first. Sam claims he found Dean, Dean swears he met Sam, and Jack will avoid the question all together. Although if someone were to ask, Dean still can’t explain how he made his way to the war table. Sam, meanwhile, doesn’t even remember driving to the bunker. He doesn’t even remember if </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>was driving. There was a tense cloud in the air between all of them when the door swung open on it’s creaking hinges and they met again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean had stood on still shaking legs. He’d spent the last couple hours staying as far away from the alcohol as possible. Later, he would lose himself. When they saved the world. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Again</span>
  </em>
  <span>. At this point, it was getting a little ridiculous at how many times they had to do it. But if no one else would then fine. Besides, moving forward kept him sane. He had decided that there was no other way around it all. The mess that was his head could be put off as long as he believed—</span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span>—they would fix this. Because if—</span>
  <em>
    <span>when—</span>
  </em>
  <span>they fixed this, then he could get back Cas.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hell, he had a score to settle with The Empty. He still owed the slimy son of a bitch for going after his kid in the first place. Now after Cas? That knock off sewer sludge was going down.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So yeah, they </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to fix this.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’d already pulled a couple books off the shelves to start research but he might as well have been illiterate. The words meant nothing more than letters on a page. Exhaustion had hit him and he lacked energy to even think. Which was good because the less he thought the better. But it still crept in, everything he knew. Everything he’d heard. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He found that thinking about it, thinking about </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cas</span>
  </em>
  <span>, was like drowning. His chest would get tight and his breathing would shift. Not as if he was suffocating, but as if the shock of the frigid water had knocked all the air from his lungs. It burned in his chest and his vision would blur, stinging with unshed tears. But he refused to cry anymore for what he had lost. He didn’t want to aid the ocean that was slowly pulling him in, drowning in love he didn’t deserve. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But he wanted to. He wanted to deserve it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love—”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That was his cue to pull himself out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sammy,” his voice was rough as he rounded the table.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Where the hell have you been?” Sam grabbed him by his jacket, hugging him briefly. Dean patted his back weakly, letting himself rely on his little brother’s strength for a moment. “I called you. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Twenty times.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened to you?” His brother had trudged on, pulling away. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It wasn’t Billy.” Dean clenched his jaw, already fighting the memories and avoiding his questions. “It was Chuck.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Chuck?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean, they’re gone.” Sam pointed in the direction of the mental door. “Everyone is </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was a pause as his mind fought to keep up with that. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gone</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was a word he was familiar with. Hell, he’s lost more people than he can count on his two hands. But for them, it never seemed to stick. People they loved never really seemed to stay gone. But now... Donna, Jody, the girls, Garth and his family, Bobby, Charlie, and the rest of the world. They were</span>
  <em>
    <span> gone</span>
  </em>
  <span>. How could this have happened? How could they have fallen so far from everything they held, all their beliefs, just to lose everyone. How could they fix this if it wasn’t in the books for them?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>How do you defeat </span>
  <em>
    <span>God?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damn, he was exhausted.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Where’s Cas?” Jack’s voice was like a shot through his heart as Dean finally let his eyes drift to the kid. God, </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> kid. Dean suddenly needed a drink. A strong one. Several strong ones. A liquor store. His resolve to stay sober was severely wavering.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Another loved one, gone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jack’s eyes focused on the dried bloody handprint just as Sam caught on. The weight of the world finally seemed to set in on Dean’s shoulders. He wanted to run or break something. It was too much and he felt like </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> was breaking. He’d already lost everything but every second he was still there, still breathing, he felt like he was losing more. But there was nothing more to lose. He wanted to be angry with Cas, Chuck, the Empty, and everything else that had ever wronged him. But he was just… tired.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” the words broke out of him, his voice hoarse. “The Empty, it was the only way to stop her and he...”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jack looked heartbroken but there was a touch of recognition in his eyes. “It was to save me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” Dean didn’t hesitate. He couldn’t even try to be mad at the kid. “Me too.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam glanced back and forth between them, remaining silent. Dean thanked sure as hell not God that his brother had more sense than Dean ever did. Jack just stared and Dean was struck by how much </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cas</span>
  </em>
  <span> was in him. He had the same stare, head tilted just slightly. The pain in his chest tightened from the realization, the ache so acute that he wanted to sink to his knees. Jack was still just a kid and he had the last of his family ripped from him. Sure, him and Sam were family, but Cas had been as close to his father as possible. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> his father. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean knew what it was like to lose parents too early. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jack just nodded slowly and looked down, making his way towards the hall. Sam went to follow but Dean stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. His brother’s eyes flickered to his own and something just shifted. An understanding of some kind took root. Dean found himself now cursing that sixth sense his brother had. Because </span>
  <em>
    <span>goddamnit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, if he didn’t stop looking at him like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he was going to snap. Sam had no idea what had happened and he couldn’t just… he was</span>
  <em>
    <span> fine.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What a lie. He didn’t even convince himself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re the most caring man on Earth. The most selfless, loving human being I will ever know.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll talk to him,” He nodded, swallowing around the tightness in his throat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>It should be him. He’s the one who got Cas killed anyways. A part of him argued that </span><em><span>that</span></em> <em><span>was not true</span></em><span>.  But it didn’t matter whose fault it was. Dean just… he needed to do something. Anything. If Cas saw him as this amazing man then maybe it was time to try and live up to that. He could take care of their kid on his own. </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shit, </span>
  <em>
    <span>their kid</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t Sammy,” he shook his head. “If I let myself think about it, I’ll lose my mind.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The familiarity of the words struck home in his brilliant little brother’s mind. He clenched his jaw and ran a hand through his hair, nodding back at his brother. “Yeah. Yeah, alright.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam was always the better brother anyways. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Following the halls was painful now. He could remember the feeling of Cas’ arms holding him up and dragging him. The chest pains he’d suffered were nothing compared to the hollow now. It had been a literal race against time—against Death. He had known then that he wasn’t getting out of it this time. Dean Winchester: The Michael Sword and The Righteous Man. He had always been destined to go down swinging. But when he had been faced with that ultimatum… he didn’t want it. He’d always known and he thought he was okay with it. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>been okay with it for most of his life. But had his life ever really been his? Did he want that? Or did Chuck make him want that. Either way, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Not if it meant Cas was going down with him. The idea of watching him die and sitting by helpless… it had damn near tore him apart.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then it happened anyways.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ve got you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jack wasn’t in his room and a dread settled in his stomach. Not because he didn’t know where the kid was, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> where Jack was, but he had hoped for his own sanity that he would be in his room. Still, he followed the hall some more.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cas’ bedroom was so empty. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jack was cross legged in the middle of the bed that was almost never used. He just sat there, head down. Dean knew if he looked, he would find an ocean in his eyes too. So he didn’t look. A single, soft knock made Jack aware that he was there. Dean sat on the edge of the bed, facing the room. There was not a single picture on the walls or any evidence of even habitance. It made sense, Cas didn’t need sleep and he hardly stayed long. That didn’t stop it from hurting. It was as if all he had left was a dried, bloody handprint, memories, and a broken family. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And that damn </span>
  <em>
    <span>silence.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I was trying to…” Jack lifted his head. “I thought…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” Dean nodded softly. “I’ve tried too.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was the first thing that had crossed his mind after Cas was taken. Jack had woken him up once, maybe he could do it again. But something inside of him, the nagging bit that he knew belonged to having been around a certain gingery Queen of Hell and former witch, told him that this was </span>
  <em>
    <span>different</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Cas hadn’t been killed exactly. He hadn’t been shredded with an angel blade, killed by leviathans, or even lost his Grace. He was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He had been taken. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I prayed to you, Cas, every night!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I know.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Could he hear him now?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s really gone?” Jack’s voice was soft and there was so much in it. There was pain and loss. Dean knew that feeling. It had been the only thing he had felt most of his life. He lived this story. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> Dean turned slowly towards him, angling so he could look at him. “I have to believe he isn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How do you do that?” Jack finally looked up with him, tilting his head, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Dean was hit with that hollow pain. Because that wasn’t the question Jack was asking. Not really. He was asking: </span>
  <em>
    <span>How do you keep going?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“That's your problem Dean, you have no faith.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen Jack, I’m not good at this.” He took a deep breath, he owed him this much. “But he isn’t gone. He’s in you, kid. You’re his son. We are going to kick Chuck’s ass and make him proud. Then… then we will do what we can to get him back. We will do </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span> we can to bring him home. We will do what we’ve always done. He would have wanted that. He loved you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jack stared at him for a moment like he always did, as if he was looking into his soul. Then he offered up a small, toothy smile. It made his hole in Dean’s chest shrink just a little bit smaller. “Thank you, Dean.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They both knew this wouldn’t last. Grieve was like that. Small reprieves where it might feel almost bearable and then the tide comes in and ruins everything. This moment was one of those. But the tide was already rolling back in and swallowing them whole.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He put his hand on his shoulder, giving him a returned small smile and nod. Words were getting hard again and he was already the world’s worst poet. This was getting too chick flick for him. When that happened, it would become too </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He needed to get out and go check on Sam. Maybe he would surrender and finally pour himself a drink. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And you,” Jack’s voice spoke up from behind him before he reached the door. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He loved you too.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damn the kid and his father for being able to destroy him more in less than twenty-four hours than in his whole life. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I love you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I—” Dean felt like he was drowning again, fighting with his lungs to work. “Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s what he said, isn’t it?” Jack’s eyes had shifted again with understanding and this was why Dean so often forgot how young he was. He could switch on a dime from a child to someone knowing more than he should.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he echoed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Dean.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, me too Jack.” He shook his head slightly as he left the room, feeling the ocean finally swallow him whole in his grief. He felt it bubble over and hoped he hid the wetness on his face. “Me too”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Cas, it’s me. We’re family. We need you. I need you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You should be here, Cas. He’s your kid and he needs you. I should have told you everything when I had the chance. More than just one chance. I should have told you for years. I just, I should have… </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You should be here.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>____</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“—Cas… </span>
  </em>
  <span>you got to bring him back.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It took himself a moment to think of that. Not the idea of getting Cas back. But what he was willing to do to get him back. Even if getting him back meant that he couldn’t be there. Hell, he was telling God right now that he would kill his little brother, just to get his angel back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>How had Cas never known?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean decided there and then. No matter how much shit Chuck said, no matter how many times the world caved in, no matter how many cosmic beings he had to gank, he was getting Cas back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You should be here.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>____</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It had been hours but Dean had started counting time with the amount of beer bottles he consumed. There were four on his desk and at least three on the floor so he was thinking it might be two in the morning. It was late, at least, because the room was dark. Actually, the bunker had no windows… so he had no idea if it was night or day.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shit, he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>drunk</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Good.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The more he drank, the easier it was to think about the phantom feeling of the vibrating of his phone. Really, it had been ironic from the beginning. He’d lost Cas and his phone rang. Had he really been foolish enough to believe he would get him back with one? Cas was </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He wasn’t coming back. No one was coming back. Chuck had turned them down, the great and powerful dick. There was nothing left.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No. No they had a </span>
  <em>
    <span>plan—</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Dean. I’m here.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He almost laughed as he felt the ocean again rise in him. He let it take him this time. There was a hollow spot in his chest that had finally swallowed him whole. Screw the devil. He even knew. He had known and that’s why he--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m hurt. Can you let me in?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’d not run that fast for anything in a long time. He should have known that there was no way The Empty would have given up its finest trophy so soon. But he had been so tired. He thought that maybe it was a bone thrown in the mess. That </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> was greater than His Royal Pain in the Ass, Chuck, was looking out for them. He’d been so caught up in the idea that he could have a second chance. More like a thousandths chance, but another chance.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It wasn’t you, Cas. I wanted to believe it was you. It should have been you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You should be here.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Please. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>____</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Chuck raised his hand and for a moment, Dean was terrified. If this didn’t work, they had nothing. There was nothing left to fight for. This </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to work. Dean couldn’t lose another person as he watched Jack stand there in front of God. Shit, why did they think this had been a good idea again? His heart thumped louder than the throbbing of his broken bones and split skin. He barely felt Sam’s hand trying to support him. They’d done their part by taking the beating. The rest of the world was in the palm of Jack’s hand. Literally. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He let himself drift for a minute, thinking about if this was it. If this is what finally put an end to their story, was he okay with that? Was this the ending he had always thought of? It certainly was going down swinging. Was this worth everything they had ever given? Worth the loss of everyone in their lives?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I—me too, Cas. Me too.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Chuck snapped.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was no </span>
  <em>
    <span>bang</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean barely dared to breath. Not even as Chuck’s multiple snaps did nothing. Not even when Jack went all supernova and shocked the cosmic shit out of God. Not even as he gave his own mighty snap, glowing like the friggin’ sun. Not even when the pain that radiated through his whole body stopped. When he could shake out the lasting ache of healed shattered fingers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was still no </span>
  <em>
    <span>bang.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t breathe until he heard himself say it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We won.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damn, it felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It felt good to stand there over the Ex-God himself. To lay out exactly what brought his downfall. To have </span>
  <em>
    <span>won.</span>
  </em>
  <span> A swell of emotions burned inside him, shrinking the ocean that he had been drowning in slowly. He felt pride as he looked at Jack. The kid had done it. He had done what Cas had believed in. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You’d be proud of him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You should be here. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Cas.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was easy then. To look Chuck in the eye. The scrawny man who had ruined their lives in so many ways. The man who had brought about so much pain. Who had created the world but ruined so much of what he touched. The physical embodiment of the inability to step back, the personification of power, and the most pathetic human on the planet at that exact moment. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Easy as he called him a murderer—the ultimate killer.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Easy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I know how you see yourself, Dean. You see yourself the way our enemies see you. You’re destructive and you’re angry and you’re broken. You’re daddy’s blunt instrument. And you think that hate and anger, that’s what drives you. That’s who you are. It's not.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, Chuck.” He walked past him. “See, that’s not who I am. That’s not who we are.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As he got in his Baby, there was one thought pushing at the back of his mind. It filled some of the hole in his chest, feeling like he was going to burst with the sudden joy that they had won. He knew who he was now, who he </span>
  <em>
    <span>truly</span>
  </em>
  <span> was. He thought maybe, just maybe, Cas had known all along. His nerves settled as his hands touched the sun kissed warmed steering wheel. The world came into focus for a second and Dean Winchester let himself celebrate, grief, and feel pain for just a moment as he felt his brother slide in next to him and Jack in the back. Right where everything should be. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Almost.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For once, it didn’t end with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bang</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>____</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Humanity, Dean decided, as he watched people mill around him, was absolutely awesome. From the stupid chatter and the innocence they had. Not a single one of them realized they had been gone. He couldn’t help but grin. His first real grin in what felt like a very long time. The world, once again, was spinning on its axis correctly. Once again, they’d survived the end of everything. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So, what now?” Sam raised an eyebrow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Now,” Jack offered one of his toothy grins. “We’ve got work to do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>____</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Bunker had never felt more like home than it did when the door slowly creaked open. It was still empty and quiet, but it wasn’t silent. There was the possibility of people and family. He could hear a phone ringing, actually several phones, and something in his chest continued to settle. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jack had departed for Heaven with the promise of returning home soon. The three, well, maybe anyone else that wanted to help, were going to start working on cracking the Empty. Jack had asked for them to trust him and Dean found he did. He trusted the kid with his life after the hell they had all been through. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His kid was </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What a life he was living. A life he had after everything.</span>
  <em>
    <span> They’d won...</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam squeezed his shoulder one last time before his own phone started ringing. He had that furrow between his eyebrows as he grabbed in from his back pocket. His eyes widened and what Dean could only describe as a look of shock crossed his face. He knew who it was before Sam even muttered, “Eileen.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean gave his brother a grin he forced yet didn’t. “Go on bitch, answer it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Jerk,” Sam gave him a look but there was too much light in his eyes for it to hold any weight. His lovestruck fool of a brother made his escape, Dean catching the choked off greeting before moving further into the bunker himself. He couldn’t bring himself to listen, feeling that it was too much an invasion of privacy. He wasn’t one for chick flick reunions. Besides, it only reminded him of a call that was never finished. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A call that was never real.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He followed the hall subconsciously, tracing the steps he wished he could forget. He wasn’t seeking the room—</span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he wanted as far away from it as possible. But he still found himself standing there, in front of the broken door. There were dents in the wood and the hinges were barely holding on to the frame. Dean ran his fingers over the rough splinters. Before he could think too hard, lost to memories, he pulled himself away from the door. He couldn’t lose it now, not yet. There would be time to grieve. Now, he had a job to do.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>An expectation to live up to.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He leaned against the wall where he had started. Always where he started, a circle of events. But this was going to be the end. Never again would he break down, never again have to play by Chuck’s rules, never again would he lose </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He slid down the wall, letting his legs splay out in front of him. He wasn’t broken this time, but determined. He knew now, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he knew</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It wasn’t in the having, but in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>believing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He believed in them, goddamnit, he believed in free will. He believed in the man Cas believed in. He knew now who he was. He had found himself in </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Good things do happen, Dean.”</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Cas,” he breathed, shutting his eyes. “I hope you have your ears on. We need to talk.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Wait For Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Chuck is gone and the world is saved.</p><p>Well, not Dean Winchester's world.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>First of all, I would like to dedicate this chapter to my principle, Mr. Ware. I hope he finds this and reads it because we all know he is secretly a fan.</p><p>Second is that this chapter and I have the most epic lovers to enemies story out there. I loathed writing this chapter and I have no idea why. I hope you enjoy it because literal blood, sweat, and tears went into writing this. I am exhausted. I really, really, really hope you enjoy.</p><p>If you do, please let me know. I won't beg for kudos but I THRIVE on comments. Don't hesitate to leave me one. Thank you for waiting and I promise I wont leave you hanging for too long. Bonus points if you can guess the references I made in this. Love you.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dean doesn’t wake up to birds chirping and the sun peaking out from behind curtains. He doesn’t wake up in a two story story house with a garden out front and a lawn that makes the neighbors jealous. He doesn’t push out of bed and stumble down the steps on his way to work with coffee in his hand. He doesn’t wave goodbye to other neighbors, putting their children on the bus. He doesn’t kiss anyone goodbye and promises to be in time for dinner. He just… doesn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But that </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> mean he is missing out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wakes up to the four walls of </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>bedroom to his alarm clock at exactly eight in the morning. He doesn’t have to, he has no job to rush too, but he likes the routine. He rubs his eyes, no windows to squint against the sun but a face full of fur does just as well. Miracle throws himself into his arms every morning without fail and there is another reason he gets up. Sometimes Sam takes their new furry friend with him on his early runs, which is probably where his brother is now. Dean will wander down the hall and shove his face with breakfast before heading to their library. Maybe fill out that job description that has been sitting on his desk. Probably not, but he has time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean Winchester doesn’t start his morning like everyone else.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But if he wanted too, he could.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Free will was awesome like that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey Cas.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could make his bed if he wanted. Or not. He could do whatever he wanted. Just because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He earned it, won it, and worked his ass off to keep it. He could hunt but he also could stay in the bunker all day. For once in his life, he could simply just exist. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He just </span>
  <em>
    <span>could.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m really feeling it today, man. I know I’ve said it before, but I do. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Breakfast was eggs and toast. It was simple but it was perfect. Dean found, now that he had a semblance of what settling down could look like, that he enjoyed some of the simple things. Though Sam is no chef, they’ve both managed to learn their way around the kitchen. Well, Dean is a cooking god but that’s besides the point. It helps raise Sam’s self esteem when he pretends his food was better than Dean’s own. Don’t get him wrong, Sam’s is great, but Dean’s is just better. It’s a fact even the newest member of the family can agree with. Miracle eats the food he offers off his plate after breakfast. It’s a snack, he reasons. Besides, he is basically begging. Free will is a dog getting toast, goddamnit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Today might be the day. I know it’s been two weeks. I’m not sure how time works there. But it’s been… long. We miss you—I miss you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d go and pretend to make his bed. He would go and pretend that he was preparing for his day. He would sometimes even mess around and play with Miracle. Sometimes if the morning rushed too quickly, he would take a shower to pass the time. Sam had made a rule after the first couple of days, finding him in the same spot with the same clothing from the day previous. When the bags under his eyes had gotten heavy and the number of bottles increased in their recycling. Honestly, Dean hadn’t even realized they recycled until he had Sam convinced that his intake was single handedly keeping up the glass market. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Today is going to be different, Cas. Just you wait.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he wasn’t allowed to start until Sam was back from his walk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was incredibly tedious. Some days he handled it fine and the time did not bother him. He could remind himself that he had all the time in the world. That was what it was all about. Finding time and living. He could figure himself out. But other days, he was back to drowning. The time was suffocating and the sound of the clock—did they even own a working clock? It didn’t matter. He could still feel the time slipping through his fingers like shadows of the blood washed away. Sure, he had all the time in the world.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Cas didn’t. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean still waited though. He waited to hear the old creak and squeal of the bunker door. He really shouldn’t be able to hear it from his room but he had basically tuned into it. He felt it more than heard it. It was a game, squares on a teetering chess board. Rather than play against each other, they made their restricted moves. The moves specific to them and only them. He didn’t know what piece he played, imagining everyone pictured him as the knight. He only felt like a pawn, caught moving forward but never really getting anywhere. No backwards but no movement, something blocking his move. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Holy Hell</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he was losing it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was set into motion anyways, letting Miracle trot after him as he made his way through the halls. He made a shortcut through the kitchen, catching a slowly awakening Eileen. She stood closest to the coffee machine, two cups in hand. Without a word or sign, she handed it to him. He kissed her cheek in thanks, glad he could do just that. He’d always, in a way, wanted a younger sister. He’d found that in Charlie but, well, things had changed. Eileen did not replace what they lost, but she reminded them what they had gained. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Especially Sam. His brother had never been so happy for so long. At least not in a very, </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> long time. It was refreshing to see even if he would complain about them as if they were teenagers. As if he wouldn’t be doing the same if given the chance. But he hadn’t been given that chance. That chance had been ripped away from him. It left a bitter taste in his mouth that wasn’t from almost expired coffee beans. He would never discredit their happiness. If anything, he was happy at least one of them ended up with their happily ever after. Not that he had given up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not yet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I still have to kick your ass for leaving again… not that it was your fault, Cas. But I’m still going to. For leaving me with these two at the least. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eileen made a motion with her hands, the tips of her fingers moving from her chin down and then her opposite hand resting in the crook of her elbow, the same arm coming back towards her face. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Good morning.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dean offered it back, way less coordinated to her amusement. He gestured to the cup and signed </span>
  <em>
    <span>thank you</span>
  </em>
  <span> back, the motion similar. Her smile widened and waved him off. He mustered a small smile and left her to her peace.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but Eileen was a blessing in more ways than one. He didn’t have to talk to communicate with her. While he had never been good with words, he was good with his hands. It made everything easier to put into, well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>words</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It helped. Some days it was just too tiring to get the words out. Sometimes, words failed him. But motions, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> he could do. It was a slow learning but he really did enjoy it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sam passed him in the hall, offering a short good morning and a pat on the shoulder. He was usually gross as soon as he came in and Dean could survive waiting until his brother was tolerable to be in the same room. Besides, they weren’t as attached at the hip anymore. The world had changed—</span>
  <em>
    <span>their</span>
  </em>
  <span> world. It didn’t need constant saving anymore. It was a warm and cold feeling to know that. His little brother, oblivious to Dean’s miniature internal turmoil, offered a pat to Miracle, who licked at his hands and face before continuing after Dean. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The library beckoned, books spread out along the massive table. He sat in the stiff chairs that he had become immune to. Back aches were the least of his worries. Miracle flopped on the floor dramatically, showing he wasn’t happy about relaxing but wouldn’t leave his side either. Dean offered a scratch behind his ear for bribing methods. He wondered, in a small part of his mind, what Cas would think of Miracle. The Angel had always seemed to be more of a cat person.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Those thoughts weighed on him, his shoulders slouching just a little further into the wooden chair that already dug into his spine. He pulled an old, green book that he had snatched off the shelf the other day. He had meant to finish it sooner but had fallen asleep a bit earlier than he preferred the night previous. He'd been drained of energy after another loss. But he pushed that all aside, forcing his eyes on the pages and to start taking in information, a notebook and pencil besides him for notes. He’d begun scanning through every book they had, nothing overlooked or left behind. Not only was it a good way to organize, but he was being thorough. If there was something, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>, to get Cas, he would find it.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Today, Cas. Wait for me. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>____</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“So, what now?” Sam raised an eyebrow.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Now,” Jack offered one of his toothy grins. “We’ve got work to do.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There was something in the kid’s eyes that had suddenly made it hard for him to breath. But Dean found he wasn’t drowning anymore. It was more of a content weight settling on his chest. They’d kicked Chuck’s ass and now their kid was God with a capital “G” but still </span>
  </em>
  <span>their</span>
  <em>
    <span> kid. He’d done it. Jack had lived up to everything Kelly and Cas had believed in. He couldn’t help but let a smile mirror Jack’s. What could he say? Kid was infectious. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What do you have in mind?” Sam looked around, distracted by the people everywhere.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>People.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>In actuality, humans had not been gone for long. Nothing had overgrown in humanity’s absence or exploded without humans keeping a careful eye. The world had not changed, not really. For him, though, it had been a lifetime. But shit, it felt completely different. It felt new. Maybe it was Jack’s magic coursing through the veins that Chuck had let run dry. Dean couldn’t tell if he noticed it because he knew what it meant or if it was always there, discrete and slipping his mind. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Everything just felt new. A good new. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“There are many matters that Chuck had abandoned. One of the worst being Heaven.” Jack folded his hands in front of him like Cas always did. “I’ll have to leave for a while.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Leave?” Dean felt that light in his chest start to fade. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I won’t be far,” Jack assured. “Besides, we have to save Castiel.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dean swore the world stopped spinning for a single second. Which was incredibly ironic since it had just started cycling again. He couldn’t speak, words failing him. Sam’s hand rested on his shoulder—his other shoulder. For once, Dean didn’t push him off or put up a barrier. He just… felt. He could do that now. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You can get him out?” His voice wavered only slightly, reminding him of the last time he had asked a celestial being to bring Cas back.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There was such a contrast between the two of them. Dean had demanded Chuck bring Cas back. There was no option, no way, no other route that he allowed himself to consider. But here, standing in front of Jack, he was asking. He could ask that and he knew Jack genuinely cared. A son saving his father rather than a father damning his son. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t know,” Jack’s voice was small again, quiet. It reminded Dean that he was still just a kid. That this had to be beyond overwhelming. As if he knew, Jack met his eyes and relaxed a bit. He tilted his head slightly and it was like an angel blade to the chest. “But there has to be a way. You taught me that.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No</span>
  <em>
    <span>, he wanted to say. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Cas taught you that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Where do we start?” Sam stepped closer to Jack.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Amara will help, she’s already started looking through Death’s Archives.” Jack tilted his head further, as if sensing for the woman he mentioned.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Amara?” Sam furrowed his brow in that annoying concerned look. “She’s out? How?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“She was separated from Chuck when I transferred power,” Jack nodded. “She’s serving as a temporary Death. I don’t trust the Reapers to take over again. That system… It also needs adjustment.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dean felt a bit of shock in his chest. It was immediately followed by relief. He couldn’t feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>her</span>
  <em>
    <span> anymore. For a moment, he thought he would never be free. But that had been Chuck again, messing with that line between them. That phantom bond was cobwebs now. “Can we trust her?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“She wants what any of us want.” Jack shrugged again, “Free will and peace.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sam let out a huff of a laugh through his nose, looking away. Working with their old enemies was always their favorite hobby. It was quiet for a moment. They were nearing the end of this and they knew it. “I thought you wanted to be hands off.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“This is a family matter,” Jack’s eyes hardened suddenly, his face scrunching a bit. “We don’t leave family behind.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dean knew he’d felt it before and apparently he was going to feel it forever. Pride flared in his chest at this kid that he had helped raise for a small portion of his life. He’d messed up at times, he knew that. He wasn’t stupid enough to believe he was perfect. His father’s habits… well, they died hard. But with Jack in front of him, he knew that he had done a little bit of good. If he could take nothing else, he would always have that.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “Besides, I can be hands off and still involved. Humanity needs someone protecting it, as it should be. It needs a listening ear.” Jack’s face softened back, almost shy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dean made the first move, pulling him into his arms. “You did good, kid.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Thank you.” Jack held onto him tightly before switching to Sam. “This isn’t goodbye.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re a Winchester.” Dean grinned and damn, it felt good.  “There is no such thing as goodbyes.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>____</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cas had been gone for a little over two weeks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean has read sixteen books since then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which was the most he’s read in his entire life. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was starting to get hard again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There had been no word from Jack or Amara so clearly Death’s Archives were giving up squat. He had to remind himself that it had only been two weeks. Then, he remembered that it had </span>
  <em>
    <span>been </span>
  </em>
  <span>two weeks. How did time pass there? It could have been years already that Cas suffered. Was he suffering? What kind of pain was he going through? He was strong—hell, he was an angel— but even the strongest of their enemies were wasting away in The Empty. He had no way of knowing, no way of finding out because these </span>
  <em>
    <span>damn books—</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a knock to his left, near the entrance of the map room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He check his watch and—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Damnit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d broken rule number two of his and Sam’s silent agreement. Lunch. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t hungry. His stomach clenched painfully and he knew he should eat. But his appetite had run out. How could he eat knowing the things he did? Knowing the things he hadn’t done. The things he hadn’t said. On a good day, he could shove down a sandwich. He sighed and looked up at Eileen, who leaned against the wall. She gave him a look that had no pity, but it did hold some worry. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her hand touched her mouth, as if she was holding something and eating it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Go eat.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighed again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still, he nodded and stood slowly. His joints cracked and—damn, today was a bad day for his knee. Sitting in one spot for hours probably did nothing for it either but it was minimal pain. A different kind of pain than the numbness that settled on his chest and made his head feel fuzzy. The physical pain was much better, more welcome. It meant he still felt something. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Too much thinking. More eating.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was fully prepared to make a grilled cheese sandwich—the good kind with two slices of cheesy and crunchy to the point of being almost burnt—but stopped at the sight of his little brother already sitting at the counter, a plate next to his with Dean’s sandwich already on it. He gave his brother a side eye as he sat down, deciding his body needed food more than his mind wanted to prepare him for the on-coming therapy session his brother was about to dish him. Sandwich first, emotions later. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a trap if Dean had ever seen one. There was even an open beer. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit—</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Have you found anything today?” He asked nonchalantly and Dean almost choked on his sandwich at the sudden question. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not yet,” Dean shrugged, trying to dislodge the sentence and the weight of nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sam nodded. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And that was that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They continued to eat in silence. Dean could not shake the small anxiety that sat in his chest. Had he really become that paranoid? Well, no, that’s not correct. He had </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> been that paranoid. It came with the job. But he had never been like this about talking with Sam. At least not this type of anxiety. He felt like he was about to explode, waiting for the moment his brother would speak and he would have to respond. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean knew if he started talking he wouldn’t be able to stop. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>, so maybe Dean hadn’t been completely honest with Sam about what happened. He reasoned that he had never truly </span>
  <em>
    <span>lied</span>
  </em>
  <span> though. His brother knew what had happened. He knew that Cas had… died to save Dean from Death by summoning The Empty. He knew that something had happened in that room. He knew that it had screwed his older brother up just a little bit more. That it fueled his research. But that’s all Sam knew. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean was not particularly inclined to enlighten his brother. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t because he was confused. Dean would admit, he’s an idiot, but he knew what that speech had meant. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span>. If he wanted to inflict more pain, he would say he had known for a while even. But again, he was an idiot. He wasn’t… afraid of what had happened. Or, rather, he was, but for the right reason. He wasn’t afraid of… that love. No, he was afraid of letting himself accept it and never be able to truly have it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because it really, really was in the saying, being, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>having</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was scared that if Sam asked, he would talk about it. He would say it, be it, and not be able to have it because some damn black parasite felt entitled. He was scared that if he couldn’t find a way in, he would want to find a way out. He was just scared and he…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He missed Cas. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So yeah, Dean didn’t feel like talking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe Sam saw that in his brother or maybe that perceptive little brain of his was actually working underneath that mop of hair. Maybe Dean’s emotions were so loud they screamed in the room. Maybe he just knew him well enough. Either way, he didn’t ask or lecture him. They, for a moment, just got to exist. They got two be too old guys sitting in their kitchen, eating grilled cheese. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was what he needed. Dean was able to offer a small smile. His brother threw one back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was… good. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean cleaned up, his way of saying thanks. They worked side to side, Sam making a sandwich for Eileen. Eventually, somehow, the silence changed and they were holding a conversation about the newest update from Jody. Kaia and Claire had started hunting on their own, Patience sometimes joining them. Alex was finishing up nursing school soon. It was so mundane. It was good. He realized that he did not have to be worried anymore. That talking wouldn’t kill him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Probably.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was tiring though.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So when it drifted back into silence, when he reached his limit, his brother didn’t push. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>good. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Together, they made their way back to the library. Dean’s beer in hand and Sam with Eileen’s plate of food. The surprising sight was Eileen sitting where Dean had been, face first in a book. The green one Dean had been looking through was still there, but a smaller book had also appeared on the table. It was leather bound and looked like something had been chewing on one of the corners. A red hardback also joined them, reappearing as one of the past books Dean had read. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eileen looked up with a smile as Sam slid the plate in front of her. Her eyes twinkled at his dorky little brother. Dean hid his smile by taking a sip of his, frankly, horrible beer. Sam mirrored her expression as he sat on her right. Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> made Dean want to gag just a little. That seat next to Dean left open again and the pain in his chest flared a fraction of an inch. Instead of pushing the thick and falling apart books away to eat, Eileen turned those blazing eyes on Dean. Something shifted and </span>
  <em>
    <span>he knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> before she even signed it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a motion, liking picking something off of clothing and then a circling of her index finger. Dean was still rusty with his learnings, but he had memorized those movements the moment they started looking. He didn’t even need to hear the words she spoke with them. He felt like someone had just ripped his chair out from underneath him. His heart rate seemed to double and— damn, that was definitely dangerous at his age. He thought he might have induced a minor heart attack. That feeling of weightlessness spread through his limbs as he stared at her, unable to move. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eileen had found something. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>____</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So get this,” Sam leans away from the book in front of him. It was just as ripped and water damaged as the original hint in their scavenger hunt for more details about The Empty. He’d snatched it sometime between their third and fifth trip to the book shelves. “It’s not so much a summoning but opening a door.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eileen’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>had turned out to be almost nothing. The green book had been a journal on religion and truths that existed and myths. Dean had been picking through it for anything. He had started to lose hope in it because a lot of it’s facts had been far from correct about angels. But Eileen had continued combing through the damn thing, finding a passage on the passing of angels. It referenced another book and had the words </span>
  <em>
    <span>an empty void</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Dean had been tugging the books towards him. The hunt then began for the other book and soon they were looking at books on Greek myths and journals.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean raised an eyebrow. “English, Sam.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d barely even begun to feel the effect of the news. Dean had looked for weeks and weeks to find anything that could get him into The Empty—that could save Cas. Here they were, with a solution, and he could feel it beginning in his chest. It was a gentle thrum under his skin, like the receding feelings of Cas’s Grace. He’d feel it later when he could process everything alone. But right now he was focused on simply finding a way in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All of this was a long shot—a guess.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, The Empty exists as a place. It is different from Chuck or Rowena. They just rule over their domain but The Empty </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> its domain.” His brother’s eyes lit up slightly and he grew a bit more animated as he talked, clearly interested in this asshole celestial being. “So we don’t want to summon it, just open a rift. Like the door into Death’s Archives. It’s just a way in.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because if we just simply summon The Empty, it’ll manifest as a physical body and won’t let us in,” he nodded back slowly, catching on. By catching on, he meant kind of knowing what was going on. He thought his vocabulary might have doubled since he started his research. Which was a testament to his insanity in itself. “But that doesn’t explain why when it came for… when it showed up, it was just a hole in the wall.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That was one of the doors. It was probably waiting to pull them through and meet them on the other side,” Sam frowned slightly. “There’s mentions of a spell for the door in here.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean straightened at that, ignoring the protest of his spine. “What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, Dean, I’m not even sure if it’s true.” Sam gave him that exasperated face, where he almost looked like he was laughing or was amused. His voice shifted slightly, quieter. “But it’s here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eileen leaned over into his brother’s space, glancing at the text he had been looking at before nodding and pushing her own book towards it. “I found something similar.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why now?” Dean mused but the underlying question was there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How had I missed this? Why didn’t I find this sooner?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s hidden in myths.” Sam shook his head, pointing at Eileen’s book. “Like this one here: it’s about a man whose lover was taken too soon by Death. The man fell into despair and had to get his lover back. He opens a door to what is referred to as The Underworld, but the description is vague and refers to a darkness. That he must leave the dark and get back to the light. Then the God ruling over the place strikes up a deal—sound familiar?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How did he open the door?” Dean shifted in his chair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The irony of </span>
  <em>
    <span>lover </span>
  </em>
  <span>was not escaping him. Hell, the irony of the entire story washed over him. Was it the vaguest lead he’d ever followed? Probably. But it was so damn accurate that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They’d always chased stories. They were the guys that chased stories for a </span>
  <em>
    <span>living</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Why should this be any different?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One last hunt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because who was he kidding. He was pushing his forties and he wasn’t getting much younger. Hell, if his back hurt from just sitting in a chair for a couple hours then that was a sign if he’d ever seen on. Dean was tired and he was ready to retire. Sam was ready to retire, staying only to help his messed up older brother. He was not going to drag his brother back into this shit show again. He’d done that twenty years ago and he wasn’t going to do it again. He knew that Sam would do it and would follow him to the end. But that was the thing, </span>
  <em>
    <span>they</span>
  </em>
  <span> had already reached the end.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sam’s end was Eileen. It was a house with that cheesy white picket fence and two-point-five little demons running around. Probably a dog chasing them and a quiet, calm life. Friends and neighbors that would talk about trivial things like the local school football team, their houses, what they thought the weather would be like for their kids’ next soccer game. No more hunting, no more risks, and no more dying. A real, steady job that he would both hate and enjoy. He’d earned that and Dean could see it in every look the two shared like teenagers trying to sneak around and hide their happiness. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So one last hunt. One last ride. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He had the help of a God to open the door.” Sam sighed, as if this was troubling news.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We have the help of </span>
  <em>
    <span>The</span>
  </em>
  <span> God,” Dean mustered a smirk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If Jack could get you into The Empty don’t you think he would have done it?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. Maybe the kid didn’t think of it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> Sam offered him a mythic bitch face. “Dean.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eileen put her thumb and index finger together at her forehead. Dean recognized the motion as </span>
  <em>
    <span>boys</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His smirk widened. Something in his chest gave and he realized he was almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It had been weeks since he had really felt anything. He wanted to laugh and </span>
  <em>
    <span>wow,</span>
  </em>
  <span> that was something he really, really had not done in a long time. This was good. This was a lead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean had needed a win. This was it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Contacting Jack would be smart,” Eileen spoke as she signed. “But…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her words hung there unspoken. Although Jack had asked them to trust him—and they </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span>—his silence hasn’t been much for encouragement. The kid has a lot on his plate between fixing the celestial government and being, well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They couldn’t rely on him for everything. Amara was a thought but he really had no desire to call on her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So this doorway summoning…” Dean turned back to his brother. “How do we find it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We already have it,” Sam gestured to the set of drawers against the far wall. “It’s in the spell book.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We have the spell to break into a celestial being.” Dean deadpanned. “Where was this before?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, we don’t.” Sam glared at him. “But we do have the ability to summon a door with the spell book and key. We will have to modify the spell a bit, but it’s the best shot we have.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe I am going to say it, but Rowena would be helpful right around now.” He shot his brother a look, “At least we have her favorite student.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another bitch face. Dean </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> winning today.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Some of the ingredients are weird but we have most of them down here,” Sam squinted down at the book. “The only thing we don’t have is a flower.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, they’d had weirder ingredients.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll grab one tomorrow,” Eileen nodded. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean didn’t smile, that was still too hard, but he felt his eyes crinkle just a little. She offered one though and it warmed a spot in his chest. She was running out tomorrow with Sam for groceries. He figured it was just their way of getting some alone time so he never said anything about it. He signed </span>
  <em>
    <span>thank you</span>
  </em>
  <span> and knew that she understood it meant more than just the flower.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had found them a win.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was starting to hit him. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>hope.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good work, team,” Dean clapped his hands together, getting Miracle’s attention. “I’ll start on dinner.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I told you today would be different, Cas.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>____</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey kid, you got some time for one of your old men?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean was exhausted and it felt fan-freaking-tastic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d run through the rest of his nightly routine following dinner. They’d eaten almost in silence, Dean too checked out to think about anything but what they had found today. He’d known that today would be different. He’d just </span>
  <em>
    <span>known</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hope. He’d forgotten what it felt like. Without Cas, that was easy to do. He had always been the most optimistic of the two of them. Shit, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cas.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It almost didn’t feel like a gunshot to the chest to think his name, to remember him, to picture him. Because tomorrow… tomorrow he could see him...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not that he wanted to get too invested… but this had to work.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It just </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> too. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It would. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But it didn’t hurt to pray to God for luck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We think—no, we know—we found something. It’s a door or something. Some crazy </span>
  </em>
  <span>Alice in Wonderland </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit. It’s based on legends and stuff. Sam’s practically vibrating with excitement. You know him, dude’s a nerd. I think he might just be happy to see me caring about something again. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean sat on the edge of his bed, Miracle a solid weight against his back. His elbows leaned on his thighs and he didn’t sign the cross or fold his hands. What he did was hope. He let all the shitstorm of emotions building up in him go, let them run into the prayer. He wanted this to mean something because</span>
  <em>
    <span> it did</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This wasn’t just some routine salt and burn, this was family business. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Listen Jack, I don’t believe in this stuff. You know that. But in this myth or whatever, the help of a God is required. It’s a pagan God but I thought since we have you… you’d help. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I know you are busy but… Jack, it’s Cas. It’s your </span>
  </em>
  <span>dad.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Please Jack. You are asking for us to trust you and we do but I need a sign, kid. Please.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silence. Again. No cheesy smile and raised hand. No chipper “Hello!” and the ruffle of wings. He missed it, all of it, if he was honest with himself. The Bunker was lonely without their little family. He missed the sound of Jack trying to subtly sneak out of his room to eat cereal at the ass crack of dawn when Dean pretended not to hear it. Or when Cas stayed up with him in the Dean Cave until his eyes were bleary and he needed to get sleep. Even Sam when he would teach Jack how to use their hunting computer system or help the kid with his aim in the range. His old four hours had slowly changed to eight hours then. When the breakfast table had been full. When the world had been them four.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the Bunker had felt like home.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey Cas. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shut off the lamp and laid down, staring at the ceiling. The darkness washed over him and he wondered if this was what it was like. He found himself wondering if Cas was able to think about them—about him. If he played their parting over and over again in his mind. He pictured the darkness, the nothing that surrounded him. It was ironic. Cas was in The Empty but Dean felt nothing but empty. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There isn’t much to fill you on today. I don’t want to get your hopes up man, but we might have a way. You’d probably know more about it if you were here. I tried ringing Jack but I haven’t heard anything. He’ll help though, I know he will. You raised a damn good kid, Cas. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took what didn’t belong to it and Dean was going to get him back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span> If this works Cas, you have to stop, okay? If this works, this is the last time we have to fight some celestial being. If this works, you have to stay. I’ll ask you to stay. I know I didn’t before and I should have—Cas, I should have. So I’ll do it now. No more goodbyes. No more Hail Mary’s—yes, I know it's blasphemy. No more deals. Just stay, okay? We’ll figure something out—Hell, I’ll sit down and we can have ourselves a </span>
  </em>
  <span>Hallmark </span>
  <em>
    <span>chick flick moment for the record books. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t even know if you can hear this. I’m probably just losing it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I miss you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Cas, I—</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m coming. Wait for me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>____</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Dean tucked the angel blade into his belt, staring at the black hole in the wall. “No goodbyes and no chick flick moments. I’ll be back before you even know I’m gone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s impossible. Your ego inflates a whole room.” Sam’s voice was gruff.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ow, Sam.” He gave his little brother a look. “Words hurt.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ll live.” He pulled him into his arms and Dean patted his back. The words went unsaid at this point. “Bring him home.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I will.” His own voice dropped. He patted his back one more time before pulling away. His brother’s jaw was clenched and he looked away, stepping back. “Bitch.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sam shook his head, a smile forcing its way through. “Jerk.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eileen wrapped her arms around him next. He kissed her forehead and tried to convey all the words he couldn’t say. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Take care of my brother. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She nodded at him when she pulled away, flashing a smile that only she could muster in disaster like this. She would make a perfect Winchester and for once, Dean didn’t worry about leaving his brother behind. He’d be fine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Good luck.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She signed and he nodded softly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Turning away from them both, he set his jaw. So that slimy son of a bitch had wanted to play. It had messed with the wrong family.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Hell hath no fury like a Winchester on a mission.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he stepped through the door into nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>____</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Did you get any sleep last night?” Sam slid him a cup of coffee.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He knew that look. It was the one that meant Sam was worried about him and more than usual. It was the one that he’d seen too often these past weeks. He appreciated it, really, because it just meant Sam cared. It was suffocating as hell though. So he shrugged, as unconvincing as it was, for their mutual benefit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Three hours.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>His brother sat down across from him in the kitchen. The two empty seats next to them were painfully obvious in the early morning hours. When sleep was still wearing off and old wounds were fresh again. When healed scars ached. “Dean, I don’t like this.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I know.” He nodded, staring at his mug. He wasn’t stupid. He knew Sam hated everything about this plan. “But I’m getting him back, Sam.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He was going into The Empty alone. Sam had to stay to keep the door open and there was no way in Hell either of them were letting Eileen go in. So, into the unknown Dean would go. Now, this didn’t bother him. He had adapted to doing dumb shit without a fully formed plan. But Sam? This was practically his worst nightmare and Dean knew it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t you think I want Cas back too? He wasn’t just your family.” Sam wiped a hand down his face. “But come on, man. Would he have wanted this?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Probably not,” Dean snorted, imagining the verbal sparring he would be having if Cas knew this plan. “But he would have done it for the both of us.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There was a lull in the conversation and Dean felt the words rising from his brother before he even said them. He was honestly surprised it had taken this long. If a swell of emotions had not just surged inside of him, he would have been proud of his brother.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What happened in that room, Dean?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He took a deep breath, staring into his coffee. The dark, liquid surface glared back at him. He could see it clear as day. Everything that had happened that night. He could still feel the bloody handprint on his shoulder. He could feel the tears on his cheek and the buzzing of his phone and Cas’s voice. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“He said something I didn’t understand at the moment. But I do now. I want the chance to tell him he was wrong.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Okay.” Sam nodded after a while. Whatever he had got out of that, it was enough. “I’ll go get everything ready.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>____</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Holy shit, there was</span>
  <em>
    <span> nothing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He took a step forward and it was like he hadn’t moved at all. He hated everything about this hellscape. It was pure nightmare fuel and he wondered if his fear of the dark would come back after this. He’d been in the place for literally five minutes and already he felt like it had been years. Cas had been here for </span>
  <em>
    <span>over two weeks. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He needed to find him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he started to walk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he was The Empty and he was hiding an angel who escaped death like Houdini and a jail cell, where would he put him?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>More importantly, if Dean started screaming for the angel, would The Empty hear him?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That sounded like a horrible joke. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If a Hunter screams in The Empty alone, does he even make a sound?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ten minutes in and he had already completely lost it. Lovely. Sam better take good care of his dog.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He continued to walk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And walk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And walk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And walk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knew it hadn’t been long but he felt like he had literally gone in circles. There was nothing </span>
  <em>
    <span>anywhere</span>
  </em>
  <span>. There weren’t even other angels around. Dean didn’t know what he expected with the name The Empty, but it hadn’t been literally nothing. How do you find someone who has no trail?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>____</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I need some of your blood,” Sam finally looked up from the bowl of ingredients Eileen had been handing him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dean nodded, finding his throat seemed to have closed sometime ago as the nerves built inside of him. This was </span>
  </em>
  <span>it.</span>
  <em>
    <span> This was what they had been working towards the whole time, This is what he had been doing since saving the world. He needed to save his world still. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He could see it. A future.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sam sliced his hand as quickly and gently as possible. A small hiss through his teeth was the only emotion he showed. He watched the blood bead and fall, clenching his fist for more. It soaked into the flower Eileen had provided that morning. It was a blue lily, the color familiar in the most painful way. Blue like the sky. Blue like home. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That myth,” he had no idea what prompted him to speak. “Did the man save his lover?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sam’s eyes met his and it was like staring into a mirror. “He, uh, no. He failed.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He went back to waiting and watching. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The silence was enough.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This would be different.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sam finally looked up after another fifteen minutes. “Ready?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He nodded again. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He couldn’t begin to translate the Latin Sam spewed, but it was old powerful stuff. Dean half expected Rowena to come out of nowhere and yell at them for using such magic and so loosely. His fist clenched as he stared at the wall, watching and waiting. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was slow. Like a small shift in the plaster. Slowly, as if leaking water, a stain spread. He had seen a similar event before. He watched as it ripped itself open, the black swirling. It was neither liquid nor solid. It was just… empty.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sam and Eileen stared at it with wide eyes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It had worked. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dean started double checking his weapons.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>____</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d never find him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Cas?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean wanted to be sick. He wanted to fall to his knees. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He </span>
  </em>
  <span>was right there, laying on his back, motionless. Dean’s mind flashed to an abandoned cabin, a rift in space, ruined wings burning into dirt, aching knees, tears, and a funeral pyre. The abyss seemed to feed on this, black appearing in the corner of his vision. Dean focussed on the brown of the trench coat, the stupid, backwards blue tie, and the black of his suit. Real black with wrinkles and worn patches. Black that reflected the light not the swallowing nothing that they stood in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Cas! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Castiel!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tried taking a step further but found that his legs were covered in the inky stuff, creeping up slowly. No, no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no.</span>
  </em>
  <span> This wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were supposed to win, they were supposed to make it work. He was supposed to come home. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cas… </span>
  </em>
  <span>he just wanted Cas to come home. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Something went wrong. You know this. Something always goes wrong.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah, why is that something always seems to be you?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’d been </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Cas had been the only right thing ever. He’d been the only right thing even when he messed up because it had been for the </span>
  <em>
    <span>right reason.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He’d been right when he said Dean didn’t stop him. He’d been right when he told Dean all those things. He’d been right to tell him he was good—because Dean </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He was caring and loving and all the other stuff Cas had put him on a pedestal for. He believed it now because Cas had </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>been right. Cas had been right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Except for thinking he couldn't have what he wanted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>CAS—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I love you too.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blue eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Eyes like the sky.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Beautiful, blue eyes blinking open and—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean felt his heart stop. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dean?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The darkness swallowed him whole. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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